


To Need, To Want, To Have

by twelvicity (Rii)



Series: Little Bears and Little Hearts [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Caretaking, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Old Marrieds, Queer Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rii/pseuds/twelvicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian decides that Bull needs to learn to be more selfish, and challenges him to ask for things.  Needless to say, things escalate quickly.   A self-contained one-shot, it's not necessary to read the other stories in the series for this to make sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Need, To Want, To Have

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the same universe as Little Bears and Little Hearts, but the only thing you need to know is that Bull and Dorian live together with two qunari daughters named Ursula and Cora (short for Cordula). That's about it. Enjoy!

About midway through the second round of dances, Bull’s sneeze had developed into a cough.

At that point, Dorian felt it was well within his rights to ask questions.  He led Bull to the sidelines of the dance floor, gloved hand holding gloved hand.

“Are you quite sure you’re all right?” he asked, leaning in and steadying himself against the great man’s arm while he stood on his toes.

“I’m _fine_ , Dorian,” Bull said.  His voice was slightly hoarse. 

Dorian was not convinced.  He crossed his arms.  “Bend down,” he said.

Bull made a weak attempt at a chuckle.  “Kadan, _really?_ ”

“So I can feel your forehead!”  He added, in Qunlat, “You are unrefined.”

Bull sighed, but he did as he was told.  Dorian took off his glove, and held the back of his hand to Bull’s forehead.  Bull’s skin was hot.

“Maker’s breath, you’re burning up!” Dorian said.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m fine, Dorian, honestly,” Bull said, but the coughing fit that followed undermined every word.

“We’re going home.”

“Dorian, you don’t have to.”

“I _want_ to.”  Dorian put his glove back on, and a hot, angry concern creased his face.  “Come on, now.”

Dorian took Bull’s hand, and Bull followed. 

(It was what Dorian wanted, after all.  At least, in that moment.)

“My companion has fallen ill, and we will be going home,” Dorian told the attendant at the door.  “Do send my apologies to Magister Gaudius.  And I’d like my carriage called around, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Magister Pavus,” the attendant said.  He glanced at Bull, a judgmental flash in his eyes for a moment, before regaining his professional composure.  “Magister Gaudius will be most understanding, I imagine.”

“I’m sure,” Dorian said.

The attendant left to call for the carriage, and it arrived not long after.  Bull and Dorian were silent for a while, until some time into the journey back.

“Honestly, amatus, why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?” Dorian said, again, prompted by another round of coughing.

“We haven’t had a night to ourselves - just you and me, without the girls - in ages.  You were looking forward to this,” Bull said.  “I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh for the love of…!”  Dorian sighed, sharply.  “It wasn’t _that_ important!”

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” Bull said.  “I just knew that it was something you wanted.”

“Oh, you horrible man, do _not_ apologize to me…” Dorian said, taking Bull’s hands in his own.  “When it comes to things I _want_ , your _health_ takes precedence over some _dinner_ party.”

“It’s really not that bad,” Bull said.

Dorian’s reply was a skeptical glance.

“Well, if you want me to get better, I guess I have no choice,” Bull continued, with a sheepish smirk.

“You absolutely do _not_ ,” Dorian replied.

They returned to a quiet house.  Maevaris was hosting the girls for them, that weekend, so they could have some time to themselves.  What had originally been planned as a night-and-day of joyful abandon and indulgence, following the party, ended up being a far more innocent endeavor.

“Now, you are going _straight_ to bed,” Dorian said, as soon as they were inside.  “And I shall see to getting you some medicine.”

“You sound like you’re talking to the girls,” Bull said.  He sounded congested, now.

“I don’t remember ever having to force _either_ of them into bed when they were sick, I’ll have you know,” Dorian said.  “Now, go on.”

In this manner, Bull was put to bed.  Dorian changed his wholly impractical party-wear for something simpler, more comfortable, and he returned to the bedroom with a bowl of chicken soup and a healing draught.

“Next time, amatus, can you _promise_ me that you’ll tell me if you’re not feeling well?” Dorian said, once Bull had taken the medicine.  “I worry.”

(And, in truth, Dorian always had some degree of worry humming at the back of his thoughts, when it came to Bull.  It had come into being after their separation, and roared into intensity when the Qun took him.  It had not quieted, even after his rescue.)

(It had been some time, but Bull was still quite withered from his experience.  It made him an imposing, hard figure to an outsider, quite fitting for the role of a bodyguard.

(But Dorian wanted him to look content, well-fed - _himself_ , again.)

“If that’s what you want,” Bull replied.

“What I want…?”  The words, there, had a hook in them, and they gave Dorian pause.  “What does your health have to do with what _I_ want?”

“I don’t want to get in the way,” Bull said.

“Get in the way of _what?_ ” Dorian said.

“Things that are important to you, I suppose.”

“ _You_ are important to me.  What _you_ want is important to me,” Dorian said.

“Really, Dorian…”

Dorian sighed, pressing his lips together in a stern gesture.  “Until you are well, my wants come _second_.  Aside from the fact that I want to see you well, which is besides the point,” he said.

Bull coughed, once, an apologetic but loving expression on his face.  “I’ll work hard at getting better, then,” he said.  “Won’t be much use if I stay sick.”

“No, no, no, none of that talk,” Dorian said.  “Your _usefulness_ means absolutely nothing to me.”

“Kadan,” Bull said, skeptically.

“I maintain my statement!” Dorian said.  His voice had assumed an argumentative tone, the sort used in debates during a Session.  “In fact, from now on, I wish to know _explicitly_ what _you_ want, amatus.”

“Dorian, honestly.”

“At least once a day!  I’ll be keeping track,” Dorian said.  He frowned as Bull began to chuckle.  “I’ll have you know I am _quite_ serious about this!”

“I’m sure you are, kadan,” Bull said, gently.  He began coughing again.

(Bull took comfort in Dorian’s dramatic protestations.  It was one of many measures of how much Dorian cared.)

But then Dorian began asking him, belligerently.

“What soup do you want today?  Chicken or vegetable?”

This was the next morning.  Bull’s cough had gotten a little better.  “Anything’s fine.”

Dorian had his arms crossed.  “Tell me what you _want_.”

“Uh, okay,” Bull replied.  “Chicken soup, I guess.”

“Right.  Now, tell me you want it.”

Bull’s smile and his laughter were strained as he tried to process.

“Tell me,” Dorian said, in a tone usually reserved for their children, “‘Dorian, I want chicken soup today.’”

“Dorian, I want chicken soup today,” Bull said, in a mockingly perfect imitation.

“Then you shall have chicken soup,” Dorian replied, brightly, and he left for the kitchen.

On another day, after Bull had recovered: “Shall I wear the red robe today, amatus, or the green?”  Dorian was preening in front of a full-length mirror, Bull watching him from the bed.

By this point, Bull had taken to answering the questions straight-on instead of suffering through Dorian’s patronizing.  Which was, likely, the point.  “I want you to wear the red,” he said.  “You look good in it.”

“I _do_ , don’t I?” Dorian replied.  “Red it is.”

On another night: “How do you want me tonight?” Dorian asked, lounging before him in his smallclothes on the bed.  “Tied to the bed?  Blindfolded?  Or perhaps we’ll try out that charming little Orlesian _toy_ we brought back…”

“I don’t need suggestions,” Bull said.  He was taking off his pants.  “I just want _you._   We’ll go on from there.”

“ _Amatus!_ ” Dorian said, sounding thoroughly scandalized.

(And, truly, finding the most pleasure in the ease with which Bull now said the words.)

What Dorian wanted, but never said - _couldn’t_ say - was to hear Bull ask without prompting.

One day, he finally did.  “I want pancakes for breakfast,” he announced, putting on an apron in the kitchen.  “How’s that sound, girls?”

“Pancakes sound great!” Ursula said.

“Yeah, sounds good, Tama…!” Cora said.

Dorian managed to restrain himself and raise his hand only to his collar, holding to it with love for words that meant so little to most other people.  His mind wrestled, for a moment, with the meaning of them - was Bull saying this to please him, remembering the nagging promises, or if… he was just getting more comfortable with the thought of being selfish.

He decided, in the end, it didn’t matter.  So long as he was asking.

\--

Dorian had told Bull that he needed to get a hobby, in his retirement.  Nothing too strenuous, nothing too taxing - sport and hunting were _right_ out, no matter what Bull had to say.

Bull tried a few things.  He took to cooking well, and gardening even more-so, when the season called for it.  Ursula, who’d taken up a habit of knitting from her Auntie Sera, attempted to share the skill with him as well, though his hands were a mite too clumsy for tinier needles.

The collecting began with a single, hideous figurine worked in porcelain.  Bull found it in the Summer Bazaar during a visit to Val Royeaux, on a holiday.

It was a saccharine depiction of a young qunari child, with little nubs for horns and a knock-kneed pose.  She was holding a fistful of wildflowers behind her.

“Oh, Dorian, look,” Bull said, pointing.  “It looks like Cora.”

Dorian’s lip curled.  Yes, it looked like Cora, if Cora had run into a door to the point of looking like some Orlesian lap-dog.  “Indeed...” he said.

“I want it.”

Well, it wasn’t like Dorian was going to start simpering over the thing just because Bull had said this, but there was a suspicious shifting of emotion at work, here.  “Very well, then, you shall have it!” he said.

Again, he didn’t think terribly hard on the gesture.  Bull’s smile as Dorian paid for the wretched little thing was genuine enough, and regardless of if he was just doing this to mess with Dorian, he had asked.  So, he would receive.

Bull set the thing on the desk in their bedroom, where it didn’t take up too much space, and Dorian didn’t have to look at it.

And then Bull started collecting more of them.  Not necessarily Orlesian imekari statues, but items in varying degrees of kitchiness - little glass hallas, carved crystal nugs, and  fat, sleeping human babies.  Dorian insisted that he get a shelf for them after some time, as it was “the decent thing to do.”

Dorian didn’t want them out of the _way,_ however.  Bull had said he wanted each and every one of them, so, even if they were eyesores, they were precious in that regard.

(But they still deserved to be kept out of the way in the name of good taste, as far as Dorian was concerned.)

\--

“I want you to surprise me tonight, Dorian,” Bull said, one afternoon.

This request had come rather out of nowhere, all things considered.  They were enjoying their evening tea in the study, well before dinner and dark.

Dorian closed his book over a finger to mark his place.  “Surprise you how?”

“Oh, you can figure it out,” Bull said.  “Just make it something we’ve never done.”

Dorian arched an eyebrow.  “You are asking the impossible of me.”

“Impossible?”  Bull leaned forward in his armchair, a challenging smirk on his face.  “Want me to give you some ideas?”

“I want to know what _you_ want,” Dorian said, but playfully, rather than wearily.

“I don’t want you clothed,” Bull said.

“Well, that’s a start,” Dorian said.

Bull smirked, and continued, “I want you to be something I can take and enjoy as I please, tonight.  I want you to be a gift for me, and only me.”

“Familiar territory, amatus, but all right,” Dorian said.  He felt pleasant heat in his face, but not elsewhere.

(Yet.)

“Familiar?  This will be different,” Bull said.  “I want to see you in _gold_.”

Dorian stifled a laugh.  “Gold?”

“And nothing else.”

Dorian’s smile turned guilty, filthy.  “Do elaborate.”

Bull rested his forearms on his legs, threading his fingers together, a hungry, wonderful gleam in his eye.  “I want you to look glorious.  Luxuriant.  Completely impractical.”

“Impractical!”  Dorian couldn’t help but laugh.

“Something you’d wear _only_ with… aesthetics in mind,” Bull said, nodding his head thoughtfully for emphasis.  “Not even appropriate for a dance.  _Only_ for me.”

Yes, there was heat in Dorian’s body, now.  He crossed his legs, coyly.  “I think I can see what you mean,” he said.

“Oh, you _think_ you do?” Bull said.

“I imagine so.”

Bull stood, and he leaned over Dorian’s chair.  His presence was enormous, intimidating, wanting.

“I want you to show me,” Bull said.

Dorian craned his neck, lifting his chin, their mouths inches apart.  He could feel Bull’s breath on his face.

“How dare you, honestly,” Dorian said, his voice slipping softly past his lips, “get me so wound up without any chance to prepare myself?”

“Eager, are we?”

“You make such assumptions,” Dorian said.  “I can’t _possibly_ be ready before dinner.  _You_ shall have to _wait_.”

Bull leaned back, and he put his hands on his waist, throwing on a challenger’s smile.  “I want to be impressed.”

(Dorian’s crossed legs were more of a necessity than a gesture, now.)

“Amatus, when have I ever failed you?” Dorian said.

“Never, kadan,” Bull replied.

“Such faith in me.  I’ll need time to prepare.”  Dorian batted a hand in dismissal.  “Go on, leave me with my thoughts, won’t you?”

“Fine, fine.  I’ll give you time to cool off,” Bull said.  “Don’t get too carried away, kadan.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” Dorian said.

“I’ll be back later, kadan,” Bull said.  He left.

Dorian willed his arousal into submission with no small amount of difficulty.  But he needed to think.

\--

That evening, Dorian excused himself from dinner, early.  “I need to get some work done in the bedroom, and I am not to be disturbed until at _least_ nine o’clock,” he announced, in leaving.  “Good night to all of you, in the meantime.”

There was a small chorus of goodnights that followed, but Bull’s was paired with a knowing, anticipatory smirk.

He busied himself with their children, with other matters, until the bell struck nine.  Then, he went to the bedroom.

He found Dorian, there, reclined on the bed, wearing almost every piece of jewelry he owned - and nothing else.  His eyes were lined dramatically with kohl, and he’d let his hair loose, falling seductively over one shoulder.  The silver in his hair shone as brilliantly as the jewelry.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

Bull _tried_ to return the sight with an alluring smile, but found himself laughing.

Dorian frowned.  “Oh, what, did I overdo it?”

“I didn’t think you’d go _that_ far.”

“You said you wanted to be surprised.”

“And I am.”

Dorian sighed, rolling his eyes, until he saw that Bull was beginning to undress.

“I said I wanted gold,” Bull said, his voice warming.  “But you’re wearing silver _too_.”

“I had too _little_ gold for impracticality, I’ll have you know.”  Dorian sat up and draped himself over the pillows.  “Now, are you going to let my hard work go to waste, or are you going to take your _time_ with me like you said you wanted?”

“I am going to take my _sweet_ time,” Bull replied.

They fell, together, into the excess of the evening, both intoxicated with the knowledge that everyone was getting exactly what they wanted.

\--

“Dorian, I want to marry you.”

This was how the Iron Bull proposed.  Not with flowers, or singing choirs, or even a bent knee.  Just a few simple words, spoken in a quiet bedroom, without expectation or sentiment.

Still, to Dorian, it was one of the most sentimental, romantic things he’d ever heard.  He sat up, as if that would let him hear better.  “What did you say?”

“Even if it’s just symbolic.  I want to do that,” Bull said.

Dorian knew Bull.  Dorian knew that Bull did not trade in symbolic gestures, or ceremony, or tradition.  He couldn’t help but ask: “...why?”

Bull shrugged.  “Just something I want to do, I guess.”

“You _guess?_ ”

“Mm.”

 _I want to hear a better reason_ , Dorian’s thoughts whined, but he did not let them speak.  “So, what, shall this just be a simple ring-and-vow affair, or do you want chantry bells and a banquet and all that as well?” he said, keeping his voice cautiously detached.

“Just… rings will be all right, I think,” Bull said.  “I want us to have a sign that we… belong to each other.  That other people can recognize.  More than just the dragon teeth.”

Dorian’s composure broke and leaked out of his eyes in hot, subtle tears.  “That’s really what you want?”

“I want nothing more, kadan.  I want people to know that I am yours.”

He wanted.  He wanted.

“Only if there’s an equal understanding that I am _yours_ , respectively,” Dorian said.  He wiped a tear away and tried to sniffle with dignity.  “Then, yes, I will marry you.”

This was more unnecessary, more indulgent, than anything they had ever tried together.  Likely more impossible, too.  But they could make it work.

The ceremony, when they managed to find a date, was a simple one, held at their house.  In front of their dearest friends as witnesses, they exchanged vows, and rings.

“I will never abandon you,” Bull promised, in Tevene.

Dorian promised, in Qunlat, “I will always try to give you what you want.”

The rings were simple bands - gold for Dorian, silver for Bull.  They served their purpose well, in the years that followed.  Theirs wasn’t, exactly, a union sanctioned by the Imperium’s Chantry - though Divine Novus was certainly working on that, with Victoria’s urging - but the message was clear.

They belonged to other people.  They belonged to each other.

 


End file.
